


i never loved anything until i loved you

by lnmiose



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Risen King Chrom, and his feelings!, basically grima and robin are the same entity, grima has robins memories as his own, grima!robin - Freeform, kind of? its mostly angst lol, warning for like.. some depictions of gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 09:39:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18990085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lnmiose/pseuds/lnmiose
Summary: He knew better than that now. It did not matter.… if so, then why was he still plagued by such pointless dreams?-Grima is Robin. Robin was in love with Chrom. So where does that leave Grima?





	i never loved anything until i loved you

**Author's Note:**

> hello! this is my first fire emblem fic, and my first attempt at writing in like... over a year at this point! i really hope to write a lot more fe fic soon, so hopefully this is the first of many.
> 
> i'd also like to formally apologise to chrom for uploading such a depressing fic on his birthday.
> 
> sorry chrom.

Mornings at Chrom’s side offered a consistent comfort for Robin. 

 

He’d never been much of a morning person, but being woken up to a kiss on the cheek and the dorky grinning face of his husband made the early hours of the day feel almost worth it. 

 

He would giggle despite himself as Chrom tried to nudge him out of bed, attempt to throw a pillow at him to express his displeasure at being woken up, only to then find himself in a tight and playful embrace. It was silly, really, for a prince and his lover to engage in a pillow fight whenever there was a need to get up early, but it wasn’t as if either of them cared about that. They had each other after all. They were two halves of a whole. That was all the validation that they needed. 

 

Robin would turn over to face Chrom and raise an eyebrow at him, fighting to keep the laughter from his face.

 

“There must be better ways to wake me up, you know.”

 

At that, Chrom would smirk and raise an eyebrow right back.

 

“Oh yeah, and what would that be? If it was left up to you, I don’t think you’d want to be woken up at all.”

 

-

 

Grima awoke with a start, accompanied immediately by the familiar gnawing ache in his head that he had been forced to grow accustomed to. He pinched the bridge of his nose, and forced out a sigh. 

 

He had never expected the destruction of the world to be a joyous occasion for anybody, but the fact that a human vessel was required for such an act to be possible felt like a fate that bordered on mockery. While the aches and pains that came with his body’s sensitivity to migraines were a nuisance, they were often just the beginning of what troubled him. 

 

It was that dream again.

 

Well, it was a dream of that kind again at least. What was recalled in those dreams changed, but in general the feelings that came with them were the same - warmth, an uncharacteristic sense of ease … and the painful guilt upon being brought back to reality afterwards. All of these dreams were actual memories, after all. 

 

Grima’s sigh gave way to a groan as he threw his head back against the throne he had taken a nap in. The armrest had dug uncomfortably into his side as he had slept, and the discomfort left from it did nothing to alleviate his mood. He allowed his eyes to wander with his thoughts - over the barren throne room in the derelict Ylissean castle that he had for a time been able to simply call home. 

 

It had all started and ended with  _ Chrom _ . That hand outstretched, welcoming him in without question. That radiant smile and laughter. That conviction, that belief in humanity which Grima had even believed himself - because as Robin, he simply did not know any better. 

 

That did not matter. He knew better now. 

 

With all of his memories reawakened, he understood that there was no other way for things to have gone. The fell dragon Grima could not live amongst humans; a race so flawed that it’s only purpose could be to tear itself apart over and over until the end of times. His birth into a human body was for a simple purpose only - to act as a vessel through which he could bring about humanity’s end, and nothing more. 

 

Chrom, however, had the power to make him believe differently. With Chrom, there was a place for him in the human world - as a tactician, as a shepherd, as a  _ husband _ . He had ruled a country side by side with him, married him, and even had children all because they had both dared to believe in a bright future… a better future.

 

It was as soon as Validar used the link of their blood to force him to murder Chrom, however, when his fate could no longer be ignored - Chrom, who had represented a future unwritten, was snuffed out in an instant. Grima knew now that Chrom’s conviction that he had fleetingly been made to believe in was nothing more than naivety, and with his memories returned he knew better than that. 

 

It did not matter. 

  
  


… if so, then why was he still plagued by such pointless dreams? It simply did not make sense. He had been created for the purpose of destruction thousands of years ago, and yet it was memories from the insignificant few that he’d lived under a false name, a false identity, a false hope that felt the need to be replayed in his sleep. There was no other way to explain it than it being another irritating consequence of his frail human body. If he could curse the damn thing away, he knew that he certainly would. 

  
  
  


The familiar clanking of heavy armour brought Grima out of his vacant frustration. The door to the throne room creaked open, and Grima watched as his Risen King dragged his way in. While ‘dragged’ would usually be close to an apt way to describe the Risen King’s movements, this time it appeared to be for a more worrisome reason. His armour had broken away in places, making the intensity of the battle he had just seemingly come out of clear to see, and across his arm was a gaping wound. Instead of doing anything about this, however, the Risen King had opted to allowing what was left of his arm to hang by his side, weighing the rest of him down as dark blood pooled onto the floor. 

 

_ “Chrom-” _

 

Grima barely registered the name leave his mouth. The panic he heard in his voice was totally illogical - he knew that as a risen Chrom could not feel pain. What was even more illogical however was the way he had leapt off of the throne to be at his side in an instant. Later, he knew he could blame his actions on that frustrating dream he’d had, the frustrating dreams he kept on having, but for now he found himself studying Chrom’s injured arm, holding it in his hands with a gentleness he could hardly recall possessing. He glanced up at Chrom to see an expression that seemed akin to bewilderment cross his blank face, and he realised that he wasn’t the only one internally confused by his uncharacteristic display. 

 

Grima shut his eyes tight and sighed, taking a step away from Chrom. After a moment taken to regain his composure, he opened his eyes again to find Chrom still staring with the same lost expression in those sickly red eyes. Grima shook his head and turned on his heel, starting off towards the door that Chrom had left open.

 

“Come.” 

 

It was a simple command. Obediently, his Risen King followed.

  
  


-

  
  


The hallways that they walked down were now a far cry from the grandeur that the Ylissean castle had once been. Tapestries were torn to shreds, walls had caved in, even the remains of corpses occasionally littered the floor. It had been a few months now since Grima had conquered Ylisstol with his army. Chrom, his Risen King, had been at the heart of it all. For a moment, Grima could not help but spare Chrom a glance over his shoulder. His empty gaze was cast ahead, either uncaring of the destruction that had come to his old home around him or simply not noticing it. Perhaps the truth of the matter was instead that he was used it. Grima had no way of knowing what went on in Chrom’s head now, whether there were still sentimentalities buried deep within him or nothing at all - but of course, he’d never entertained these ideas enough to ask him about it. Even if he were still able to string together coherent sentences, Grima found the idea of indulging such a thought process with Chrom pointless. Counterproductive, even. For Chrom, and for himself. 

 

Grima halted as they reached their destination - the room that Grima had claimed as his own after seizing the castle. Before, it had been the private quarters of the Exalt Chrom and his husband Robin. The recollection of this fact stirred something inside of him again, and he huffed another sigh.

 

Curse this pathetic body. 

 

He opened the door and allowed Chrom to enter ahead of him. Blood was still pooling from the  deep wound in his arm, and Grima scowled upon realising the mess that Chrom was going to make. He gestured for Chrom to kneel next to the bed, and immediately he obeyed, stiffly lowering himself into a prostrated position, eyes lowered to the ground. Grima sighed and rolled his eyes as he sat on the bed,

 

“No, no. There’s no need to bow.”

 

Slowly, Chrom lifted his head up again to look at Grima, and for a moment they held each other’s gazes. Grima held out a hand.

 

“Come on. Give me your arm.”

 

Slowly, Chrom lifted his arm for Grima to hold. A bloody mess had been made of it, with the wound obviously being the result of a complete, direct blow. If Chrom’s body were not more resilient, Grima was certain he may have lost the arm entirely, and if he were not a risen he would almost certainly be bleeding out on the ground somewhere right now. Shaking his head, Grima set to work at using his magic to heal Chrom’s arm - with Chrom being his risen, it was simply a matter of reconstructing his own work again. As the flesh begun to knit back together, Grima held Chrom’s gaze again, giving him a long suffering look that was far too reminiscent of old habits long passed. 

 

“You always were ever so reckless…”

 

To this, Chrom seemed to glance away almost sheepishly. He swallowed as if ready to say something, but the words never came. They rarely did. 

 

As Chrom’s arm healed, Grima took a glance around the room they were sitting in. He was more than used to the sight of it, but the dream he’d had seemed to make it stand out in a new light. It was here that Chrom had held him tight, stroked his hair, kissed him good morning as the sun shone through a crack in the curtains. There was no sun like that anymore. The skies were forever covered in black cloud, symbolic of the darkness that was to be visited upon all those that lived beneath it. There was no morning to be woken up to, and Grima had made it so.

 

Without being conscious of it, Grima realised that he had been holding Chrom’s hand, and Chrom’s hand was gripping his back. While his fingers were icy cold, they seemed to provide a warm comfort all the same. Something within Grima still ached for that comfort. He found his thumb tracing a circle over the back of Chrom’s hand as he struggled to find words that could articulate the complicated sea of emotions that were waging a war inside of him.

 

“... do you remember when you vowed to never leave my side?”

 

Chrom’s face, while never straying far from stoic, seemed to grow confused again. His eyebrows knitted together slightly, as he seemed focused on the task of producing a response.

 

“... I do.”

 

The words were rasped out, but were clear all the same. Their eyes met again, and Grima found himself pulling Chrom closer.

 

“Then… would you stop rushing off into battle alone like that? I’ve never seen you look such a mess before. If you’d managed to lose an arm entirely, then what would you do?”

 

Chrom seemed even more confused by that sentence, which was when Grima realised that he had not given him a command - it had been worded as a request. He opened his mouth to correct himself, when Chrom already responded,

 

“I… will stay… by your side… Robin.”

 

At that, Grima realised that this had gone too far. He let go of Chrom’s hand and shuffled away from him onto the bed, leaving Chrom still kneeling and staring. He knew that he should feel angry, but for some reason he felt unable to muster it. 

 

“You know that is not my name.” He’d intended for it to come out as a cold reprimand, but instead he simply sounded tired. He and Chrom’s eyes met for a moment longer and he cursed inwardly at how stupidly vulnerable he must seem. 

 

He supposed, though, that if anyone must see the mockery that existing in this human vessel had made of him, it made sense that Chrom would be the one to witness it. 

 

“...I did not rest well. I will be taking another nap. Guard my room while I sleep.”

 

The command was hardly louder than a whisper, but as always, Chrom unquestioningly obeyed. As his Risen King stood up to stand guard at the door, Grima turned away. The absence of Chrom’s presence beside him in bed was an absence that he felt all too strongly, and he found himself wondering if he’d ever be free of it. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> the title is lyrics from the song i appear missing by queens of the stone age, if you wanna get depressed over music that reminds you of grimachrom with me.
> 
> thank you for reading! expect more chrobin from me in the future... i love these two very much, despite the sadness i just inflicted on them :')


End file.
